King Arthr: VolII
by ViciouslySweet
Summary: Even if the knight's survive the war between them and the not dead Cyrnic physically can they emotionally? Better then it sounds, R&R please
1. P3C1'After Effects'

**King Arthur: Volume II**

_A/N:_ I know this may be confusing at first but please give this a chance! The story begins just about a week after the movie. Tristan, Lancelot, nor Cyrnic died. Only his father Cedric and his brother Case (who is also referred to as Cedric at times). Before Cyrnic could attack Arthur made the first move, by attacking a small village bordering Saxony. In the village and kidnapped is Case's young wife ( B.K.A: Lessa, A.KA. Clara). Although it is apparently obvious that he doesn't stand a chance against Arthur, Cyrnic swears revenge upon everyone that dared to help slay his father and brother, even if Lessa is stuck behind enemy lines and is in love with the very knight he blames for Case's death. This whole story is basically what happens after the movie while revisiting the past from different points of views. Part Three is a week after the movie and follows the knights viewing the toll the war is taking on everyone, especially Lancelot who has been assigned the duty of looking after Lessa and Tristan who is getting involved with a knight's widow frightened to relive the past. The other knight's are included of course but they don't play major parts, save for Galahad and Arthur.

_Disclaimer _I don't own King Arthur, the characters, and everything else dealing with the movie. I don't get paid for this, so please don't sue.

_Rating:PG-13_

_Reviews_ Please

_"Trust isn't the fact of it being there, it's the fact of placing it in that person, Trusting someone enough to allow them to guard your secrets and innermost feelings is the point. Everything is meant to be broken.It's like waiting for love, if you look over your shoulder waiting for it to end, which it will eventually, whether you coast down the broken hearted way or the death way, you can't enjoy it when you have it," Lessa, Part Four_

_**Part Three)** _

_Chapter One) After Effects_

"Ouuuuu," she cried into the sky. The heel in her lower back made her cry out even more. "she some kind of beauty huh?" the dark haired soldier asked the brunette before he threw her to him, he pulled out some of the hair he had clenched between his fingers. "a wench like you? Gotta be the prettiest Saxon I seen yet, right Gael?" he asked the other soldier.

"I bet all the men back there love you huh?" he, the dark haired knight walked forward to stare into her eyes before he whispered that in her ear, his alcohol ridden breath stinging her cheek on the cold night. All she had on was a tunic and a pair of britches. Both were ripped. She cried when the other man ran his fingers up her thigh. The Saxon bit her lower lip. "What's your name, huh?" he asked once again looking into her eyes while the brunette's hand moved higher. Before she could even register what she was doing she had spat in his face and the guy was smacking her hard. The brunette threw her to him and she smacked him, digging her nails into his face. Lessa dug her fingers into the muddy earth. For a moment she couldn't feel the foot kicking into her. Her mind momentarily ventured to her village wondering if they were safe but the sharp intense pain became to noticeable to miss. She rolled over looking up. At nothing. The moon claiming the clear sky. Her tears rolled down the side of her face, before her eyes gently shut. She couldn't hear the insults being thrown out to her. She wouldn't let them penetrate into the depths of her mind. His weight was heavy on top of her and his finger seemed so warm against his cold face. So uninvited though, on her cold thigh, her sick stomach. She allowed her eyes to open but only after his chest was pressed into hers, all his weight leaning into her. She could feel something warm on her. And it wasn't his body.

Her eyes skipped to the knight. He had the brunette on his knees. His curved sword curving into the neck of Gael drawing a slight amount of blood. He looked over at her after allowing the guy to run off. He kicked the body to the side and pulled her up She flinched, trying to pull away. "No," she began whining. She tried running away, but Tristan grabbed her from behind, holding her waist. "please let me go," she hunched over, her tears wetting the soil more than the days snow had already. "please," she repeated. Tristan loosened his grip and Lessa turned to look into his eyes. Tilting her head to the side. She didn't want to see the pity there. But it was there. Her hands fell to the chain that was supposed to be at her neck. There was nothing there. She had forgotten it had been taken during the raid and it fell down along the bare skin visible through the tunic that had been slashed open earlier. Her breathing calmed. She gritted her teeth and for the first time allowed her self to grieve. To cry. Really cry. Tristan thought of where to take her. Just at that moment a obvious God's blessing walked by.

"Jols," Tristan called averting the squire's attention to him (really I mean, who else could it have been?). Jols looked down at the dead body and at the crying girl in Tristan's arms. To put it feather light he was just a tad confused. Jols cleared his throat and before Tristan could be questioned he cut Jols off. "take her to Arthur," he commanded.

"But sir… Arthur sleeps heavily after today's battle…"

"Yes, yes," Tristan thought. "take her to Lancelot," he was sort of second in command even if he refused to act like it.

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"Where are you going?" Galahad quizzically asked. Galahad had helped him with is steed and he automatically assumed that Lancelot was going to the tavern.

"I need to bathe," Lancelot yelled back to the group of knights heading towards the tavern. If they kept it up the Saxon's would no longer be a problem. But that wasn't realistic. The Saxon's always had a trick to play.

Lancelot was past frustrated, why couldn't Arthur just allow a battle that would have eventually began on it's independent own begin by itself? But everyone knew Arthur absolutely always had to be in control, especially Lancelot.

He was too dirty, Lancelot hated being dirty and it seemed like it had sunken into his skin and if it sunk to deep it would stain his insides. The knight began pulling off his armor in the stables and before he even reached his room his tunic was being stripped off. He sighed.

When the cloth was free from his eyes and he looked around the room her dirty blonde hair was the first thing he saw, the tips stuck together with dried blood. Her busted lip was next and her torn britches and tunic followed. He had never seen her before so why she was tied to his bed was quite a bothering question. She wasn't crying. Her face was a bit moist and there were dried tears but now she was just staring idly and desolately at the ground. Her stare was barren and blank.

Jol's kind face appeared from the balcony. He smiled a bit. "Who is she Jols?" Lancelot's anger was already beginning to rise his midnight eyes lost any kindness that the thought of a scathingly hot bath could have clouded them with. She didn't look at him, but she flinched. He was referring to her. She was the she. She was nothing more than a low Saxon to him. Just like the rest. That was what he would think immediately.

"I don't know, she was being thrown around by some of the soldiers. She was found in a rotting house hiding with two children. She put up quite the fight," Jols continued as Lancelot walked closer. "I brought her to you because Arthur is out," Lessa had long dirty blonde hair that reached the length of her back and smooth skin over her thin frame.

"Tell Terra to bring my water," he said sort of kindly. It shocked her when his voice softened, but her face remained empty. Lessa just listened. She was a Saxon. But she didn't really look all like a savage being. She looked to be the most pure and innocent of the bunch and that was saying a lot. He began stripping down, not a word to her. He sighed laying back onto the bed and spreading his legs. He could smell the blood staining through her tunic like a blood hound.

All the clothing he claimed was a pair of britches. "Who are you?" she didn't answer the question. She bit her lip to refrain from any sound to escape. She didn't want to say anything. Why did he need to know? She was just end up being a slave again. Used once again, he was just a resting point. A break from the never-ending life, proving that nothing ever changed. Nothing. And her life was no different. Why did he need to know her name? Why did he need to know that she was a slave that had shared the bed of a prince. She hated him already. The arrogance in his voice accusing her already. His mind was made up already so why would she even try to sway it. To him she was just and always would be a dirty Saxon.

Her back itched but her mind was on him. Laying not that far from her. His foot about ten inches from her face. He sucked his teeth when she didn't answer his question..

"I hate you," she loudly claimed.

"You don't know me lady?" he snickered. Lady, that was a first though. Recently the highest title she could obtain was she, her, or you.

"Why me? You killed the children but not me, am I what you want? Then I beg of you to do as you please, my life has no purpose anymore," she was becoming hysterical now, trying to make some sense of everything. She bit her lip to draw a slight amount of blood. Her eyes remained cold, the warm tears that had fallen to sting her face, were long past gone. Dried from the knight's tunic she had cried them into. Lancelot dropped to floor. He sat next to her (no, not kneeled, sat) and ran finger along her cheek. "You're a savage," she spat trying to knock his finger from her face. He stared, his eyes softened for a small moment. "A child murderer-"

"I killed no children and you're lucky it were not me that found you because you would be dead," he cut her off, his voice more icy than he had intended it to be.

"You call that luck huh?" she said snapping her neck so Lancelot could no longer look into her face, the propinquity between them was becoming too small.

"You would really not mind if I took what I wanted?"

"If I no less gave it would it still be taken?" her eyes squinted. Large blue eyes turned into no more than a slit. Foggy with tears. She blinked, letting the tears meet with her long lashes, freeing them from her eyes so she could stare into the dark eyes. It seemed like he was trying to hide any emotion he was feeling. But it was hard, that's why kindness echoed in his eyes, it was the easiest thing to admit to. Sympathy was what he was feeling though. His eyes shot down to her back. To her bound hands. Lancelot wondered just what Jols went through to get her there. He almost pitied him, briefly forgetting how angry he was at the squire. She was upset and for a moment he found it best not to provoke her.

He reached behind her to untie the rope that bound her to the bed. "Don't do that?" she warned, her voice daring and suffused with annoyance.

"Why?" he asked, truly wondering why she had said what she did. Why she wished not to be untied although the red rings around her wrists were evident to the pain she had to be experiencing.

"Because I'll kill you," she was dead serious staring into his dark eyes. He outstretched an index finger to lightly tap the busted lip and she snapped her head again. His index finger ran down the front of her slashed tunic. "Let go of me," she said through gritted teeth.

He blankly stared. "Didn't you just tell me to do as I pleased?" he asked cynically.

"If this is what you do then that is your pity,"

"And what would the this be?"

"Kidnap women, bed them against their will. Go ahead," she was staring squarely into his eyes with her blue ones. "and you have killed children before," she accused. Lancelot stood to walk to the other side of the room, he had the right of mind to go find Terra and ask her what was taking so long but then came the 'Sir Lancelot' from outside the door. "It's embedded deep into the depths of your eyes and when I look down there I see those faces staring back up at me. You are nothing more than what you make my people out to be, you hold your head no lower and your standards none higher. You call us savages? I watched two children being killed and then I was carried here so your knight's could have their fun with me. But I pity you the most because you are not those ignorant soldiers out there that slash at my tunic because it's fun, you know what you're doing," her eyes shot to the ground. Lancelot was looking at her.

"You know nothing of me,"

"You sent my brother home with a hole in his chest, and they say you are the best fighter of this isle. I mean, you did nearly defeat Cyrnic… right? Men fear you and women humble them selves in front of you because you are to handsome to be a ruthless killer as they say and even if they believe you are, you are to willing to take them away from their troubles for the night to pass up," her eyes turned glassy. "You think you're tough because you would take from me while I'm tied to your bed? You are nothing more than a coward-," when he opened the door she stopped speaking. The knight looked down at the bath water that seemed all the more unpleasant. But her eyes still burned holes along his body. Lancelot walked into the hall when he saw Galahad bouncing up to him happily. Only swaying about every five steps.

"There's a woman here, right?" Galahad said, shifting his weight and almost falling.

"Yessss," Lancelot said waiting for the half-drunk kid to continue.

"Arthur wants to speak with you about her," he informed the dark haired knight. Lancelot ran his fingers through his curly hair looking back at the Saxon, staring at him. He wondered who she was, and why Arthur needed to speak with him about her. What importance she held. He nearly forgot that Arthur was supposed to be sleeping. He just barely cared. Her eyes were diverted to the ground. His look of pity was overwhelming and she almost trusted him for the split of the shortest second she could imagine. Then her guard was posted again. High and unable to be penetrated. But they found there ways back to the eyes that were still staring. They revealed caring that he would rather forget. He wondered who the Saxon was.

"Do me a favor and stay with her Galahad," he softly whispered so she couldn't hear.

"Yup," Galahad obliged. After Lancelot had taken his leave Galahad bent over to pick up the bath water and carry it into the room. He smiled at the blonde. She flipped her hair to stare at the young body. Swaying drunkenly. She chuckled slightly. It was the first time she had found herself smiling for a long time. He kneeled, reaching behind her back to untie the thick rope that bound her to the bed. She smiled, her eyes catching his, there lips the farthest of three inches apart.

"Thank you," she rubbed her wrists when they were finally untied. He would have kissed her if she had not risen. And that was exactly why she had. She turned so her back was to him. She let the tunic fall and then she looked over her shoulder. "do you mind?" she kindly asked. His blue eyes were glittering with anticipation and then kindness.

"Of course not," he found his way easily to the door and Lessa pulled back on the tunic, first she checked the window and then she began her look around the room. Her fingers enclosed around the pendant coolly. Easily. She fingered it, bringing it closer to her eyes to scan over it more closely.

Lancelot pulled open the door eagerly the plate of food nearly above his head until he saw Lessa fumbling with the pendant, shocked and frightened. Her eyes wide and startled. He dropped the food. He rushed over grabbing it from her. "Give me that!" he yelled snatching it and placing it in the pouch at his side. When he realized how badly he had overreacted he tried to apologize with kind words.

"Bathe, you need to," he motioned to her blood stained tunic and then fell onto his bed. Spreading apart, and sighing.

"Your lover give it to you?"

"Lover," he laughed rolling her head to stare into her serious face.

She glared, pulling back on the tunic she had just begun to loose. "Don't look! And yes lover… and if not lover a woman nonetheless,"

"nope, the day I adorn my body with anything from any "lover" will be the day I die,"

"Why?"

"Trust me, women around here don't have enough depth to make me love them that much,"

"Well who?"

"A six year old girl,"

"Who was she? Daughter?" she asked sinking into the hot water. He smiled at her crossing her arms around her chest to conceal her body even under the bath water.

He turned so she couldn't see the chord she had struck in his heart. "Sister," he seriously said. She knew how to get to him oh so quite easily and he was still unsure of why. He had just met her and it seemed like she had known him forever. And him her. She was frightened. And when she felt frightened she either fought or shut down completely. She reminded him frankly of someone. But of who was what was bothering him.

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"Sir,"

"Amares," they both greeted kindly. Amares looked back, since when did Tristan know of her name? The usual greeting was 'sir', 'lady' or 'sir', 'kind lady'. Sometimes in a commonly rare moment a certain unusual Bor's, Dagonet, Gawain, or any knight claiming another name would follow.

"Amares," Vanora called snapping her back to reality and her Tristan study briefly ended. The red head waved her over and faithfully she glided over, ignoring the close cut dark blonde soldier tugging on the back of her auburn dress. She smiled gratefully at Vanora.

"God's thanks for everything but… I can't do this, I mean, I can't ask you to pay me to work here when I'm staying here… and… this job-"

"Amares," Gawain called. Tristan watched as he pulled her by her waist, running his hand over her abdomen. Over the shoulder Amares shot a glance back his way. She smiled brightly into his wide eyes. Tristan sat wondering how come it seemed everyone knew Amares but him. She placed her hands over Gawain's.

"It's nice to see you also Gawain," she pried them off of her. Gawain was too drunk to think of Galahad's reaction to him grabbing her again and resting his lips on her neck.

"Are you alright Gawain?" she asked when under his weight she nearly fell backwards due to his own staggering.

"I would be if you escorted me to my room," he whispered so near to her ear he just barely kissed it. She could tell he was drunk by the way he handled her. The war with Saxony had taken it's personal toll on everyone and most of the knights preferred to drink until they could no longer stand straight. Good thing Galahad wasn't there to see. He had claimed Amares as hers despite her being available to render her "services" to anyone who paid high enough. Bors pulled Gawain off of Amares and she whispered a thank you. Amares rain her fingers through her strawberry blonde (well more of a peach blonde) hair. She bent over to see what else Gawain needed. Tristan watched with hawk like abilities, watching every movement she made, placing hair behind her ear, pulling up the front of her corseted dress effortlessly while crossing her leg over the other behind her. Tapping a impatient foot on the cobblestone. And even when some jerk of a guy walked past her, brushing against her noticeably she barely flinched. She just looked back, barely.

Honey eyes followed Amares until she was merely feet away from him, tucking something into a cupboard. "Need something?" she asked. Looking over her shoulder at Tristan sitting there, inflicting her cunning gray eyes on the scout, sitting there.

"…?" was his silent question. His eyes widened with realization that she was talking to him.

"You've been staring at me for the last ten minutes" she turned around staring into the cold eyes. "I thought you just might need something," A smile played briefly over her lips.

"No," he quickly answered but her eyes still stared into his. Her lips barely parted as she tucked the hair behind her ear.

"Amares," Vanora called.

"Sir," she nodded nicely.

"Lady," Tristan stood to take his leave.

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Tristan drank generously from the tankard he had "borrowed" from the tavern wondering how much earlier he would have to get up to scout the Saxon army out. Then he wondered how quickly they could counterattack. Maybe he could ride before dawn so then the darkness would hide him. He would do it before Arthur asked it because then it would probably be midday and it would be harder to do it. One thing was for sure, they had to get to them before they got to the village. Arthur would die before he let the Saxon army anywhere near the villagers.

"How do you do?" her celestial voice was the first thing that caught Tristan's attention.

"Good," he looked up to see Arthur talking to Amares comfortingly, his hand on her shoulder. She smiled, craning her neck so she could stare into his eyes. She ran her thumb over his cheek, cupping his chin in her palm. She squinted her eyes and pointed her index finger scolding him playfully. He smiled. He said something in a hushed tone. Whatever it was, she looked down, her eyes clearly beginning to water and then she looked back up at him. But her gaze seemed to be above him. Her grey eyes swirling with a light hazel stared up at the castle. As if she saw someone there, smiling down, or not by the upset look plastered across her lighthearted face. Then she said something in respond.

"Congratulations to you also," if he heard quite correctly. Which Tristan always did. When he said something to turn her cheeks red she turned her face bashfully, And there sat Tristan, watching. She waved. Arthur placed a hand on her shoulder making her look back into the sea eyes. She nodded and after Arthur walked away she began bouncing to where Tristan sat. Did he seriously look that lonely?

He stared at her. She was beautiful. He wondered how many other men had thought that same exact bloody thing. How many other men allowed there eyes to dip into her exposed chest just as the corset did? How many other men allowed there eyes to run through her curly hair? How many other men paid so their fingers could? Tristan didn't wish to become one of these men… but for a moment he didn't care. She glided forward as fluid. He wondered how many men had and would loosed there eyes in the swagger of her hips. She sat next to him.

"Need something?" her eyebrow rose in a questioning manner,

"How many times should you ask me that?" he, annoyed, said. But those words were still the most of any he had said to her. Her index finger met her chin, and she thought hard. Smacking her lips when she began to speak.

"As long as you continue to stare?" she countered.

"You know Arthur?" he asked out of pure curiosity. They sat atop a large circular brick bench. Tristan always did like sitting there. Being in the middle of the courtyard he could see everything.

"He's a kind man," she smiled at some hidden memory, probably best shared between them two anyway. He tucked it into a mental file, just so he could remember to make sure Galahad didn't find out. At least not from him. Tristan did that a lot. Tuck things into his mind. Numbers, ranks, probabilities. "if his scout should favor him I fear I might take a liking to him," Tristan drank again. He considered this.

"Do you like Arthur?"

"He's a kind man," her feet swung while his remained planted steady on the gray stone.

"Kind people don't survive here, but you know that right?" he stared ahead, watching Gawain make away with a woman… no, two women he had picked up from the tavern earlier.

"And what of you?"

"To call me kind would be a mistake,"

"I make many mistakes," she softly said. He stared down upon her moonlight suffused soft skin. He imagined just how soft it was. She was excellent at her job obviously. She smiled up at him. She cupped the scout's chin in her palm the same way she did Arthur's and tilted her head so their noses wouldn't bump.

"Is that so?"

"I'm making one now am I not?" she asked, tasting his soft lips. He pulled away running his tongue over his lips and placing his hand over her thigh. Applying only slight pressure.

"Yes,"


	2. P3C2 'And Here We Are'

**King Arthur: Volume II**

_A/N:_

_Disclaimer: _I don't own King Arthur, the characters, and everything else dealing with the movie. I don't get paid for this, so please don't sue.

_Rating_: PG-13

_Reviews_: Please

**Part Three/**

_Chapter Two)_ _'And Here We Are'_

With a small smile of remembrance Amares sat up in the soft bed. She clutched the thin blanket trying to remember "everything". She could remember going back to his room and then… nothing, blank. She felt deaf, dumb, and mute. No, she felt like a invalid cursed with amnesia. How much did she drink anyway? And if she had gotten drunk so much why was Tristan able to get up and leave before she had yet to awake. The first thing she was supposed to see was Tristan, sleeping next to her. No, she wasn't supposed to see Tristan, she was supposed to be gone! But anyway, the first thing Amares woke up to was the large pouch, tied carefully with a blue string and weighing down the pillow in Tristan's place.

The half Britain yawned looking around the room, barren for the most. Slowly she crawled to the edge of the bed looking for her clothes. "What the?" her soft voice seemed raspy and strained with sleep, hopefully. Standing? Overrated. Who needs to stand when with every exhale the pounding of a headache threatens them? She wrapped the blanket tighter and tilted her head to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

Her deep auburn dress swayed, hanging over the railing two seconds from falling. She could have wondered how it made it's way upon the balcony. She could have wondered why Tristan, who had laid the blanket over her didn't extend his common courtesy even more and rescue her clothes. On a farther note, she could have even wondered why she used such a light fabric to sew it. The mild breeze surely didn't help her dress's case. Amares jumped up and just before she could place one foot onto the balcony her dress blew away. She sighed, walking to the edge of the balcony and hitting her hand hard on her head in realization that she would have to make her way home, across town in a thin blanket. She looked over, lifting her hand in a sort of half wave to Lancelot, standing on his own balcony, smiling, laughing, most likely at her, half naked on Tristan's balcony. "Nice night?" he yelled over to her. Her eyes scanned the floor, and then his face again, she threw her lips in an odd way to the left side of her face.

"I… can't… really… remember," she admitted, clutching the blanket closer to her body. He nodded, looking back out at the wall and the lands beyond it. "You?"

"It was… interesting," she nodded that time.

"You wouldn't have happened to see Tristan would you?"

"I know Arthur mentioned something about Galahad and him training in the stables, you should check there, well… that is," Lancelot stopped to smirk briefly. "when your… you know? Decent,"

"Very funny Lancelot… very funny,"

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Lancelot stepped back into the room, listening to her light inhales and exhales. He smiled at the sleeping figure. Her hair covered half of her face so those indefinitely pouting lips could poke out, visible from his vantage point, along with her long eye lashes. She did look much better since she had taken that bath, Lancelot even believed that it was the reason she had slept in his bed. Well other than her falling asleep in the water and Lancelot carrying her there, she did wake up in the middle of the night and even upon finding herself hastily dressed by Lancelot she didn't leave. She fell into a deep sleep. He wondered just how bad her body would ache the next day from being thrown around. He meant to ask Tristan about the details but the scout was probably the hardest knight to catch up with. Obviously, even if Amares couldn't find him. He knew about the sparing match Tristan had promised to Galahad though. It seemed like Galahad could loose fifty times (which is likely) and he would still challenge Tristan. It wasn't that Galahad didn't have Tristan's skill it was that Tristan used all of his senses to predict what Galahad would do next. Sometimes Lancelot believed Tristan knew even before Galahad did. If they were fighting purely on skill, of course Galahad could probably beat him or at least give him a good fight.

Lancelot didn't know why Tristan had to get up at dawn anyways. Like anybody does.

But since Tristan wasn't in his room he had to be somewhere. Tristan was good at hiding but disappearing was a trait even he lacked. Lancelot sat on the edge of the bed careful not to wake up Lessa. She had finally found a moments peace around Lancelot and he wouldn't ruin that. She had momentarily allowed her guards to fall. The curly haired knight dressed hastily. With his bad luck Tristan would have rode to another village or left the service by the time he knew where to find him.

He turned back to take a quick look at Lessa before he left and she sat up in his bed. She attempted to say something, her hand instantly went to her swollen lip, then to her bruised stomach. She probably was remembering yesterday. "Go to sleep, there is no need to wake this early," and for the first time since she had been there, just before she rolled over, Lessa smiled at Lancelot. For Lancelot. In a natural chain reaction Lancelot found himself smiling also, but her back was already to him. He wondered how old she was when Case made her his. Arthur called her a young princess but how old exactly?

It was a sort of legend, there love story. According to Arthur. Case fell in love with a slave, Lessa, at first sight after saving her from the harsh treatment of some soldiers. The love, forbidden was shunned by Cedric and so Case told Lessa they would run and her name would be Clara, then the war began. Or the invasion. It was obvious Case was needed by his people so he stayed. The story could go one forever, really. Depending on who told it there were so many unknown details and stupid facts that one could tell the tale over the span of a day if they'd fancy. Lancelot wondered how many were true. If it was true that it was love at first sight (as most wanted to believe) or if Case courted her.

He pulled open the door. The scraping made Lessa jump, slightly, probably involuntarily and so instinctively she didn't even notice herself. He wondered how long before she would no longer jump at every small noise or sound. Before she wasn't afraid of the world. Before she no longer was afraid of Lancelot. She flinched every time he touched her and she looked to the ground for refugee every time his eyes found hers. He could tell she was insecure, if Arthur was correct about everything Case had to be the only person she had been with. She was simply too young. Back at home Lancelot could imagine her as trusting and naïve. Not always alarmed and panicky.

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Lancelot pulled open the heavy doors to the stables. He squinted his eyes so he could see the two bodies, sparring in between the dust swirling in the air. "Tristan!" he called out making Gawain look over. He sat atop a near rotted barrel.

"Don't interrupt, Tristan is actually trying,"

"Be quiet," Galahad yelled loosing his concentration. He fell backwards. A large puff of dust rose around him making the boy cough violently. Tristan offered his hand but Galahad did not accept it, instead he pushed his own body up. Tristan sheathed his sword and walked over to a shelf housing a rough cloth so he could wipe his face.

"What?" he asked Lancelot.

"Amares is looking for you," Tristan didn't even look up. Galahad did though, jealously striking his face.

"Amares?" the knight ran his hands through his dark curls after he asked the question trying for it not to sound too forced. As if he actually cared. Galahad was hoping that last night… they hadn't been… together. "what did she say?" Galahad asked the question for Tristan who could care less.

"Maybe she needs some help remembering last night, I mean her dress hanging off of the balcony… I filled in the blanks quite fine," he smiled and Tristan shut his eyes opening them to look up at Galahad. His knuckled turned white at the hilt of his sword, the same white as his flushed face. His jaw tightened and Tristan could almost hear his teeth grinding. He refused to look at Tristan though he just pushed the heavy stables doors open and began to stride away, his cheeks puffy and crimson. "What's wrong with him?" Lancelot asked to Gawain. Gawain just looked to Tristan before he stood to follow. For once it seemed Galahad would be a man about this.

"I'll go," Tristan mumbled instead.

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Galahad pitched the last of the apple into the clear lake water after he had chipped a small piece off with his dagger to eat it quickly. Galahad did everything in a hurry when he was mad. He jumped looking backwards when he hear the intentional snap of a twig. "Galahad you are aware that she's a-" Tristan looked closer at all of the red bobs floating around the lake and then at Galahad. So much for being a man. "What the he- Galahad why did you throw all of the apples in there? Vanora's going to-"

Galahad cut him off with :"whore. Right? I am aware that she's a whore. Yes Tristan I was quite aware of that but thank you for reminding me," but it came out more like:

"whoreright?Iamawarethatshe'sawhoreyestristanIwasquiteawareofthatbutthankyouforremindingme,"

Galahad was so sick of Tristan not caring. He was supposed to freak about the apples. He ate one every morning so what was he going to eat? Did he even care? He probably would find something else but didn't he care that his favorite food was gone?

"Galahad I didn't say…"

"But you meant it! Why her?" he asked in a loud shrieking sort of way. "Do you know how many other whore's parade themselves around that tavern? How many women throw themselves at you but you just had to have her Tristan. I told you how I felt about Amares. Did that not mean anything? You didn't even know Amares before I told you about her," he was huffing now, his hand enclosed around his sword. Tristan knew he would never use it. For some reason it made Galahad feel safe. To know that he could use his sword at anytime he needed. Tristan stood, allowing Galahad to castigate him. If it made him feel better than they could stay there all day.

"Galahad… she has slept with other knights… you know that right?"

"I don't care Tristan! I told you! Lancelot, yes I could see it, even Gawain but not you. You, you - Gawain was right," Galahad stood. "You don't care about anything," he swiftly walked past Tristan so he couldn't see the tears welling in his eyes. It was the first time Tristan had let him down. Tristan's tunic rustled lightly with Galahad's passing wind. He sat at the bank, leaning over to catch a apple before it could began it's cycle around the lake again. He bit into it.

_Gawain's right. I don't care about anything, anybody. Except for them. That stupid, loud, rambunctious, group of idiots. They would be dead if not for me. Every single one of them, even their reckless commander. I don't care. I don't need them, none of them. I'm free. Free to walk away and leave them, then they'll see, they'll die without me but… I don't care-_

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Galahad's feet froze. There was something different about the cemetery. A small women sat near a gleaming sword protruding from a small mound of dirt. Her knees pulled to her chest. She was rocking back and fourth. He had never been there when someone else was there. Nobody else went to the burial ground. The woman coughed, sniffled and then wiped her eyes dry. The large tunic she had on fell off her shoulders. She flipped back her hair and her eyes caught on Galahad. His breath snagged. She smiled jumping up quickly and Galahad walked over, slowly. Why wasn't he mad at her? Why didn't he hated her. "Do you still think about him?" he motioned towards the sad grave.

"All the time. I fear I'm the only one though,"

"I see him sometimes, I mean I come here and I see him, but sometimes he comes to me in my sleep and…"

"You know every time I look at Jeil I see him," she smiled sorrowfully. It seemed like yesterday Jespert had taken the arrow for Galahad. He opened his mouth but she shushed him. Her index finger stuck in the air, tears rolled, lonely, down her moist cheek. She wiped her red nose. "I know it wasn't your fault Galahad,"

"Do you?"

"Yes, Jespert chose to save you so you could grow up, and live. He was already grown practically. Well, older than the rest of you," he fell back to the lush grass, the out of place grass mocking the resting knights. "he loved you, you know that right?"

"Yes," Galahad quietly said after Amares had turned to face him. He ran his finger along the side of her face. Her eyes cut to the side to watch it travel to her shoulder. She scrunched her face pushing him aside. "Amares," he called as she began jogging away. "Amares I didn't mean it-"

"Yes you did Galahad," she called over her shoulder. "I know it was coming, come back to my room!" her voice wavered. 'Well the answer is no!" she got to the end of the courtyard before she turned to see Galahad's pained face. "Galahad you and I… we have always been friends… not… business partners, I just…"

"I would never ask you to do anything you weren't comfortable with," he nearly whispered. He was now about four inches away from her. Her eyes were on him though. The scout no one was supposed to see, he was apathetically petting his hawk, only raising his gaze every five seconds. She couldn't believe this. But then she looked down at the clothes. Well… they were his, he did have a right to make sure they were safe. But did he have to so noticeably watch over her? Did he really have to hover like that? Galahad turned back to follow her gaze. A jealous pang obviously shot through his face. Seeing this, Amares tried to smile but it stood unconvincing to Galahad's eyes.

"I know Galahad, you seem to be the only one. But then it's not like I can really complain right? I made my bed. Why should anyone think of me as higher than I-"

"Because you are," he sheepishly said. "your more amazing then anyone gives you credit for, more beautiful then anyone cares to admit," He was so much more charming then Tristan with his cute smile and his wide eyes. But then again Tristan didn't try to be charming. He did him and hoped it worked in the end… or not, he simply could care less if it worked.

"Thank you Galahad," she smiled briefly. "I have to get home," she patted Galahad on his shoulder and turned on her heels to head home. After about ten minutes of walking she stopped walking but she never turned around. "Stop following me," she warned.

"And how do you suppose I get my clothes back?" he asked indifferently as always.

"I don't know Tristan should I take them off right here?"

"You said it not me," she looked around at that. "This is payment for the dress you destroyed when you let it fly over the railing-"

'It's not my fault that you were to drunk to realize we were on the balco-"

"Hey," she ran forward to wave a index finger before his eyes along with shake her head fiercely from side to side. "don't you dare say that aloud," she snapped, shaking her head in a disappointed way before turning to walk away. She expected him to follow but he didn't, his eyes did. Almost like her guardian angel his eyes followed her until he could no longer see her.

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_She cocks her head to the side, and I find her lips bending a bit back into something of a smile as I realize for what it's worth Lessa has come to trust me. She no longer flinches when I touch her, her shoulder's relax at the touch of me instead of stiffening and she actually eats the food I bring to her._

_She looks down and I smile, with my balled fist I lift up her chin to stare into her eyes. I wonder if she's afraid. She's trembling. Her smile merely hides the fact that I frighten her. She thinks I will hurt her. And then it happens. It's obvious that Arthur has something important to announce but to her or me I'm unsure of. And here we are right now. The glassy eyes are glaring at the man that killed the one she calls father and I am staring at her, as she sits there, on the verge of tears just from the site of him. She moves, but slightly. I can almost see her wall being built. Swiftly also. She wastes no time._

_The only time I'm sure it isn't posted is when she sleeps. I watch as slumber infiltrates her wall and whisks her away. She drifts to sleep slow, waiting for me to go first because obviously she is unsure that I'm really going to go and what will happen if I don't. _

_She has grown not to hate me at least. When she does fall asleep first it's beautiful though. I watch from the other side of the room and when I can hear small breaths escaping her tired body my eyes open to see her mouth barely open and her thin frame curled protectively into a ball. Her mouth moves slightly and I wonder if she is having a nightmare or on the verge of a smile. And here we are…_

"Don't touch me," Lessa yelled when Arthur attempted to approach her. Arthur barely smiles. But he does. He was obviously understandable to Lessa. He had dismantled her world in the matter of a day. It was his knight's that are responsible for her husband's death and him himself that killed her father.

"Lessa-" Lancelot began but she pulled backwards.

"You tricked me," she nearly mumbled. Lancelot shut his eyes, he gulped but Lessa didn't hear, she was too busy backing into the crook of a wall. And there it went. Already erected, and high. There was her wall. She looked over at Lancelot with confused eyes. Lancelot looked to Arthur. Then dark eyes scanned Lessa again. He nodded. Just like that they had had a whole conversation and left Lessa to decipher what it had been about. Lancelot stood and Lessa looked up at him, afraid that he would leave her, and he did.

"Princess," Arthur waited a moment trying to find the correct words.

"Widow," she gave them to him as she corrected him smiling sarcastically. "I am no longer a princess without a prince to take my hand…wouldn't you agree?"

A/N: Thanks for the review Naril. I want it not to be confusing but in a way it's supposed to be. I'm like going for a Pulp Fiction thing here, hence, the out-of-place parts. The truth is I didn't really know what part Guinevere was going to play but now I do so that's why she wasn't in chapter one & two, she will be in chapter three though. Also, if anyone cares, I've come to the conclusion that Amares and Tristan's part will be smaller although it was supposed to be as large as Lancelot so if they don't show up for awhile that's why. Please review and tell me what you think even if you hate it, I've worked really hard on this story.


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